“Socrates and Phaedrus, like Odysseus, must sail by the Sirens without being enchanted: instead of listening to their voices, they will outdo them with their own logos. . . . Plato's Odysseus does not even let the song of the Sirens enter him but deafens it with his own rational discourse. Philosophy is itself a Sirens' song, the antidote against the dispersion and drowning of the soul into the body, that is, against the ultimate wandering.”

“Because of its search for comprehensiveness, his narrative is an organically multidirectional movement rather than a straight journey on a highway interrupted by less important deviations to the margins: where is the main road if so many cities are to be visited? We can still imagine one road, but then it is a road that meanders everywhere, a road that wanders itself.”

“Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts.”

“She’d looked so beautiful standing there, gazing out to sea. Crimson had once told him a tale about Sirens, magical creatures that lived on an island. Their songs lured mariners to their destruction – their ships were destroyed by the rocks surrounding the island. And even knowing that death awaited them, they couldn’t resist the lure of the Sirens’ song.”

“Her sound is a siren's song, calling me to the rocks.”

“You ought to use a little of that siren song on Alan, my pearl. The boy needs to loosen his cravat.”

“Her voice drew him nearer and nearer like a siren leading a man to his doom.”